Arabella of Mars(59)

“You can’t kill me,” she whispered. “You need a navigator.”

Hands tightened all over her body, especially Binion’s, which gripped her jaw. “Don’t think we haven’t thought of that, lad,” he said, and she swore she could hear his malicious smile in the Stygian blackness. “We’ve seen how much you dote on that darkie captain. So once we take the ship we’ll keep him alive—but if you don’t cooperate, or if we think you’re steering us wrong, his journey will be cut short.” The knife slid a fraction of an inch along its length, and Arabella felt a trickle of blood begin to well up. “So … do we have an agreement? Just nod.”

Arabella swallowed, the motion of her throat bringing a sting of pain from the knife blade. How could she possibly agree to help these harsh, cruel men in their campaign of mutinous larceny? But if she said no, or if she tried to struggle free, Binion in his self-centered cruelty would surely end her life. They’d kill the captain, too, no doubt, and without her warning Simon would do Michael in and leave her mother and sisters penniless. But if she acquiesced, they’d leave her alive—for now, at least—and she might have a chance to thwart the mutiny.

Gritting her teeth, Arabella nodded, her head barely moving in Binion’s grip.

“Now say it.” The hard fingers that pressed the bones of her jaw and cheek relaxed just slightly. “Swear on your life that you will join and support our cause.”

“I swear.” Just for the moment she was glad of the darkness, which hid her expression of anger and disgust.

“Well, lad, that weren’t so hard now, were it?” said Binion, and he slapped her cheek lightly like a doting uncle. “Welcome to the brotherhood of independent airmen.” He muttered to the other men, who released Arabella and melted away into the darkness, then leaned in close to Arabella’s ear. “Mind you, now,” he whispered, his foul breath assaulting her nose, “we’ll be watching you close. If you make one move to warn any one or interfere, the deal’s off, and you and your precious captain go over the side … in pieces.” He pressed the knife hard against Arabella’s throat, making her gasp. “Don’t think we won’t.” Then he pushed himself away, making her hammock vibrate like a plucked harpsichord string.

She lay staring into the darkness for a long time, trying to calm her hammering heart. Her throat was dry, her head pounding with headache. Her clothing was soaked with sweat, now growing cold.

What would she do now?

What could she do?

Tears came then, hot stinging tears of fear and rage and shame, and she stuffed her fist in her mouth to stifle the sobs.





15

MUTINY

Arabella had not slept when the call to “rise and shine” sent her and all the other men tumbling from their hammocks. “Big day, boys!” cried the boatswain’s mate. “No more charcoal-makin’! Today we set sail for Mars!”

At this declaration a weak, ironic cheer sounded across the deck, but a weary and fearful Arabella could not join in. Instead she peered about, examining each face in the guttering lamplight, trying to discern which men were conspirators in Binion’s mutiny. An overly cheerful expression might be as suspicious as one with hooded, shifting eyes. But in this light, to Arabella’s worried eyes the exhausted, red-eyed men all looked like potential mutineers.

After breakfast, Arabella was called into the great cabin to observe as Captain Singh and Stross worked with Aadim to plot out the ship’s course to Mars. Her heart leapt up when she heard the call, thinking that this would be the perfect opportunity to warn them of Binion’s plot, but as soon as she arrived it sank again. Binion was there ahead of her, along with several other midshipmen, all seemingly attentive to the captain’s navigation lesson. Seeing the dismay on Arabella’s face at his presence, Binion favored her with a nasty smirk.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. She hauled on lines to raise sails, scrubbed black charcoal grit from decks and bulkheads, and spent weary hours slaving away at the pedals like any other airman, but all her attention was fixed on the officers and the men around them, alert for any opportunity to slip a word into Stross’s ear, or Higgs’s, or even Richardson’s. But whenever an officer was near, so were dozens of ordinary airmen—men whose hard eyes and set jaws marked them as possible mutineers. And if any of the traitors should overhear her imparting her intelligence, her life and the captain’s would be forfeit.

She tried to leave a note in the great cabin where the captain might find it. But she lacked pen and paper to prepare such a letter in advance, and even the minute it would take to scrawl a note in the cabin was one more minute of privacy than she could obtain there. Binion was seemingly as inevitable as her shadow and twice as ominous, and when he himself was not present some other midshipman, one whom she’d seen Binion laughing and smirking with, was always nearby.

Perhaps not all the midshipmen were mutineers. But she could not be certain who was a member of the conspiracy and who was not. The only thing she could be sure of was that no one with any skill in navigation was part of it, or else they’d never have need of her.

Weary, fearful, and paralyzed by lack of information, Arabella kept a sharp eye on every man and awaited an opportunity to take action.

*

The mutineers struck just before eight bells of the afternoon watch, when the men on duty were tired, hungry, and inattentive. Arabella and Mills had been sent to haul a cask of water from the hold for the men’s supper, and were just engaged in the slow manipulation of the heavy, awkward thing—bigger than two big men—up the hold’s aft ladder when they heard a great commotion from the deck above. Shouts and thuds were interrupted by a sharp crack, then silence.